Two Hits
by fandombloggingaddict
Summary: Andy is walking to blow off some steam when he comes across something he hadn't believed was real - or that he didn't want to believe. Child abuse and coarse language ahead.
1. Chapter 1

It was a fucking cold day in Shermer and Andy was so fucking done with his dad.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Why was the fucker so obsessed wit his son's future? Yeah, he wanted to succeed, but not badly enough to throw everything else away for a scholarship.

So fuck him.

Clarke was storming away from his house, trying to cool off. A few blocks later he was walking normally, still thinking about his dad and how he just couldn't say no to the demanding man... not until that Saturday detention. The wrestler froze, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. He could say no, he could stand up for himself.

It's not that he respected the asshole, but Andy kind of admired Bender. John wouldn't take this kind of shit, he'd storm out or yell back or argue until his opponent gave in.

Andy ignored the nagging memory of Bender's little show-and-tell freak out.

He had continued walking, not really caring that he was entering the slums. He could deal with a rogue punk or two; a fight might actually help him calm down. He enjoyed the sense of danger that pressed on his mind. He'd never have been here before that detention, but Bender was right. If they stuck to their comfort zones and avoided the unsavory, every one of them would be worthless, weak conformists.

Okay, maybe Andy was going a bit too far with the ideal, but it was the principle of the matter that he applied to his venting.

The wrestler froze again, but this time in reaction to a sound coming from a house he was passing. It could hardly be called a house, it was in such shambles, but there were definitely people inside. There were several crashes and grunts until Andy heard a yell of pain followed by cruel laughter. It sounded like two men fighting. Usually the wrestler would have minded his own business, but there was another, more agonized yell, and he started toward the ajar front door.

"That's what happens when you fail to obey, boy!" A man bellowed, and Andy heard what sounded like someone being thrown into a wall as he heard the sick THUNK of a head crashing there.

He was running.

When he reached the door he paused, unsure of what he should do now, until he heard the close guttural scream. Without further thought, he barged in and yelled, "STOP!"

God, he was gonna puke.

There was a man standing over a boy with one boot held on his bare back, pinning him to the ground as he used one hand to hold the boy's clearly dislocated arm back and used the other to push a burning cigar into his left shoulder blade. The teenager cut off his yell to inhale shakily before dragging his head up to follow his attacker's bewildered glare. Both teens' eyes widened in horror.

"Bender?!"

"Clarke?!"

The man snarled as he pulled the cigar away, which made John wince. "Get the fuck outta here, kid, unless you want the same!"

Andy was aghast; Bender hadn't been lying. This was his dad. The wrestler shook off his disgust and stepped forward, at which the drunk pulled back on John's arm so that the teen cried out again.

"Back off or I snap his wrist!" The man adjusted his grip to be bending the joint backward. John's other hand clawed into the carpet, getting a grip on all he could. His breath hitched and head ducked down when his father began to bend it beyond its limits.

"Okay, OKAY!" Andy raised his hands. "Just let him go and we can all just go about minding our own business. Let him go."

"You don't tell me what to do, kid! I'll do whatever the fuck I want to!" At this the man snapped his son's wrist, but this time John managed to only groan.

The man released the teen's arm and kicked him over so he was on his back. John tried to pull himself away but he was just kicked until another rib broke and he grunted heavily. Andy watched in aversion as the school criminal writhed slightly under the crushing force of his father's boot. He was brutally kicked once more, sending him into a wretched coughing fit. The man huffed and shook his head. "You were always a pathetic piece of shit, hardly worth the effort of beating. Well, you can go ahead and crawl to your boyfriend, you worthless fag, I'm done with your sorry ass. Don't come back." The drunk left, retreating to dive into another six-pack.

John wheezed and twisted slightly, in too much pain to do much else. Andy quickly went to his side, where his outreaching hand was swatted away. John inhaled shakily. "Enjoy the show, Sporto?" His dark laughter was cut off by a groan. "Get me up, bitch. We gotta get outta here."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I can't believe it's been a year since I posted this. It feels like just yesterday. Well, I meant for it to be a oneshot type of thing, but hey, I ought to update ****_something_****, right? So, here's what happens next in ****Two Hits****. I guess you should review if you want me to continue, because I have a lot of abandoned stories I should be updating, so let me know if you want more of this one! Reviews and PM's are pretty much the only things that keep me on task with these. Thanks, helinahandcart, for asking me to continue the stories I left unfinished, you really got the ball rolling here :)**

It hadn't been easy getting John out of there, and the criminal would probably swear up and down that that was because of his " bad attitude", which teachers felt the need to point out whenever he managed to make a bad situation worse.

But, in Andy's opinion, this situation couldn't have gotten worse, and Bender was hurt bad. Andy was sure Bender had faced bruises, burns, even some concussions or sprains - but broken bones? This was serious. A broken wrist, the same arm's shoulder being dislocated, some broken ribs... he needed a hospital. But Clarke refused to even ask. Three things ensured that Bender could never resort to a hospital: lack of money, the risk of getting pity, and his father's rage.

So here Andrew Clarke was, a "young man with a bright future ahead of him", dragging the school criminal out of his shack of a house and into the ghetto. And it was getting dark outside. Great.

Andy had no idea what to do, and the semiconscious guy he was practically pulling along was no help. Bender just muttered, "No hospital," then promptly went limp. Andy figured he must have a bad head injury to be this out of it. Anyway, the only place he could go without a car and in the dark, too far to walk to his house with this load, would be to just get off the street. Behind a building or something. So he lugged Bender along and pulled him into the gap between a rundown house and a dumpster. Though the narrow alley-like passage, they got to an open space, like a concrete yard with so many weeds it may as well have been a field of grass. Andy dropped Bender there, against the wall, and sat with him.

"Th' fuck you think you're doin'?" Bender growled. He wasn't angry, though. He just sounded tired.

"Got you out of there. It's probably the only reason you're still alive."

"Wouldn'a kicked the bucket yet," John replied almost defensively, "m'Dad's got a lot more to say before he kills me. Wants to teach me a few things. Like not to yell, not to look at him funny-" Here he laughed, and Andy wondered whether the knocks to the head had knocked a few screws loose. "Hell, maybe he won't kill me, just wait until I can't come crawling back. I'll just die out here." The criminal closed his unfocused eyes and leaned his head back against the wall as if he was ready to die here, now.

"That's not going to happen."

"Aw, sweets," John cooed dryly, "you _could_ be my knight in shining armor, but you can't exactly wait around outside the front door until you hear a crash." He dropped the false tone. "Ain't that easy. Don't be a dumbass."

"Yeah, whatever." Clarke shrugged it off. It was pretty dark now, except for the low glow by the skyline from houses and obnoxiously lit businesses. "So, are we just gonna sit here until you magically heal up, or do you have an idea of what to do?"

"Well, fuck, jockstrap," Bender snorted, "I didn't know you were that clueless. We can't stay here, some bums will come back here looking for a fight."

"What?" Andy started. "Are you serious? People just lurk around here, trying to find someone to jump?"

"It's not exactly like there's anything better to do, and how'd you think I got half the shit I have, a knife and doobage and a sweet ass coat? Guys I dropped."

Andy seriously doubted that Bender had killed anyone, but he'd believe that he'd gotten in fights. He probably didn't start the fight, either. Maybe he worked to keep his rep to par as a criminal, but he didn't have a death wish.

"Okay, so we have to move." Andy reasoned.

"Damn right, you do," A stranger sneered as he slinked around the corner, half a dozen guys following behind him. "Wouldn't want to be caught outside past curfew, would we?"

John immediately tried to stand, and Andy gave him credit for making it up halfway. Then Clarke helped him straighten up and move away from the men.

"Hey, no problems here, we were just leaving." Clarke said as he continued to move backward. Suddenly, he backed into someone, and the buy behind him shoved as his back. Andy stumbled and let go of John, who made sure to find his balance quickly.

"Bender, you looking for a fight, working my neighborhood, huh?" The guy seemingly in charge stepped forward, challenging him.

"Like hell it's yours, I beat your ass into the ground a block from here. If anything, it's mine."

"You wanna bet?" The guy threatened and moved to get in Bender's face. "Show me how tough you are, then."

"You're not worth my time," John deflected the threat.

The guy shoved him into the wall, and Bender choked back a cry as his damaged arm hit the wall.

"Ooh, coming to a fight after you already got your ass handed to ya? Bet you can't even fight back. Pussy."

Bender's eyes flashed and he reeled back to deliver a punch to that smirking face with his good arm, but the guy easily dodged it and delivered a punch of his own to the criminal's chest, and another. John ignored his sudden inability to breathe through the pain as he kicked at his shin. The guy cursed and favored his aching leg, and Bender drove his knee into the guy's gut. The blows earned him a momentary upper hand, but within seconds, the leader's buddies were coming at the criminal, and the one that had initially shoved them was holding Clarke back. The guys got their friend's revenge on the criminal for picking a fight, and John was already badly hurt. Andy was worried that John would take a bad hit to the head and die or something, so the struggling wrestler was bellowing as the men beat the already downed teen. Bender couldn't do much more than try to block the blows, but that only got him further injured. When he tried to block a kick to his side by lowering his arm, the kick met his shoulder and the dislocated joint's grinding made the criminal scream.

"Jesus, who knew the infamous Bender could scream like that!" One of his attackers cheered. "Looks like you ain't so tough after all."

John wasn't giving up, though. He hadn't passed out yet. He was getting back up. A knee to his gut actually gave him some momentum to move upward, if he didn't cringe and curl up more. So he wouldn't go down, Andy groaned inwardly. Still didn't mean he hadn't already lost.

When Bender finally hit the ground again, though, the guys decided it wasn't as fun anymore and backed off, and Andy was let go. The gang walked away laughing and jeering, leaving Clarke to stand where he was, staring at his friend uselessly.

His friend. Well, Andy supposed, it was likely no one had ever know about or even tried to help Bender in this situation before, so he was probably the closest thing the school criminal had to a friend.

But Andy couldn't help. Bender looked like death, like he was right that he would die on the streets. He was pale, bleeding, lying on the ground with his hair splayed across his face, and his breaths were short and jerking.

Really, Andy was almost tempted to give up. This wasn't his responsibility. In fact, Bender would probably prefer it if no one saw him like this. But after that Saturday detention, things had changed, and he was no longer a selfish, mindless jock. Now he was trying to make a difference. And there was no way that a good person would leave a friend like this.

So he moved forward warily and knelt beside the form of Shermer High's most feared delinquent, lying beaten and concussed on the streets, with a friend that had no idea what to do.

**A/N: Wrote this as soon as I got the request to continue some Breakfast Club stories. Do you guys want more of this? I want to hear what you think. Thanks for reading.**


End file.
